


gonna keep this love (if you let me)

by areyouevenrealbro



Series: loyalty [4]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Bikers, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, minor depictions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:54:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21890491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/areyouevenrealbro/pseuds/areyouevenrealbro
Summary: “we meet again,” the strawberry blonde bartender slides a glass of whiskey down the bar.(or, five times connor asked freddie a question, and one time he didn't.)
Relationships: Frederik Andersen/Connor Brown
Series: loyalty [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1427422
Comments: 9
Kudos: 62





	gonna keep this love (if you let me)

**Author's Note:**

> howdy hi i hope you guys enjoy, i literally sat down and cranked this out in like three hours because finals kicked my butt and i needed a creative outlet that wasn't crying LOL
> 
> thanks for reading, appreciate it, love y'all lots <3  
give it a kudos/comment/share if you enjoyed!
> 
> title from

**I.**

“We meet again,” the strawberry blonde bartender slides a glass of whiskey down the bar. Freddie catches it. He tries not to smile; he probably fails.

“So we do,” he takes a sip. It’s smoky and rich, and combined with the look the bartender is fixing him with, it makes him shift in the cheap leather seat he’s struggling to fit in. Something smells faintly of smoke, though Freddie’s not entirely sure that something isn’t him. The room could be burning around him, and he doesn’t think he would be able to look away from this man.

The bartender is bent so that they’re eye to eye, chin propped up by the palm of one of his hands. With their faces this close, Fred can see the subtle black eyeliner rimming his eyes.

“You know,” Bartender starts. “You’re here for two weeks every six months like clockwork, and I still don’t know your name.”

Fred raises a brow. “Should I be concerned that you’re keeping track of that information?”

Bartender shrugs noncommittally and swirls his finger through a puddle of mysterious liquid on the bartop. “It’s been two years of this. It’s hard not to pick up on.”

He’s not wrong, is the thing. They’re in Ottawa every six months to check in on their product and those in charge of it, and every time Fred finds himself in this bar, in this seat, more often than not.

He could weigh the pros and cons of telling his name. He’s not a member that’s very well-known by name, but he’s around Auston enough that people recognize him. 

In the end, though-

“Freddie.”

“Freddie,” Bartender’s eyes shimmer. “I’m Connor.”

He never really stood a chance.

**II.**

“You’re late,” Connor’s voice is tinny through the phone, but his dry tone transcends the miles of distance between them.

“Yeah, well,” Fred glances over his shoulder, making sure that no one has snuck up on him in the quiet payphone booth across the street from his motel. He licks his lips and tastes blood. “I got a little tied up.”

“Kinky,” Connor deadpans. “Everything alright?”

Freddie thinks about the look in the eyes of the men that had ambushed them. He thinks of the way his hands felt when they were soaked with blood and dirt, and then he tries desperately to forget about it. He thinks about the way Auston had shoved Mitch behind her and pulled a switchblade from her boot, flicking it open with practiced precision. He thinks about what he would have done if Connor was there with them. If he would be scared, if he would freeze, if he would breathe Fred’s name shakily like Mitch had with Auston, fear thick in his voice.

Then he thinks about how Connor is hundreds of miles away, tangled in his thick white comforter and eyelids drooping. Not yet asleep despite the hour and the late shift he just got off of, because he was waiting for Freddie’s call. Safe. Warm. Beautiful.

Home.

“It is now,” Freddie breathes.

**III.**

“Can I ask you a question?” Connor murmurs.

The air in Connor’s apartment is thick and warm with summer, the pleasant kind of heat that leaves you tired no matter how much you sleep. Connor has been dozing against Freddie’s side all afternoon, and Fred can feel his back cramping from the lumpiness of Connor’s couch under them.

Freddie hums without looking, turning the page of the book he’s been reading. He thinks it’s Harry Potter, but he hasn’t been paying much attention.

“Are you ever going to tell me why you’re only here for one month out of the year?”

That gets his attention. He glances down at Connor, who’s avoiding eye contact by tracing swirly patterns into the worn fabric of Fred’s shirt. He doesn’t even look up when Fred sets the book gently on the floor, just clenches his hand into a fist and lets it still.

It’s a question he has to think about. It’s a question he’s _been_ thinking about. Connor knows that what he does is dangerous, and he knows that knowing the specifics about what Fred does potentially puts him at risk of being the target of some nasty shit, but Fred’s been careful not to let anything more than that slip.

But three years after finally learning Connor’s name, he can’t imagine losing him over this.

“Yes,” he finally says, and it’s not a lie.

Connor finally lifts his head to search his eyes. Fred’s not sure what he’s looking for, but he seems to find it, because he doesn’t press any further; just nods and lays his head back down on Fred’s chest.

He can feel the weight of his head there with every breath he takes, centered right over his heart. Fred tries not to think about how that might be a metaphor.

He mostly succeeds.

**IV.**

When Fred opens the door to his motel, he’s not expecting to see Connor waiting there, blinking hard against the rain dripping into his eyes. He’s got his arms wrapped tightly around himself, and he’s shaking like a leaf.

“What the fuck,” Freddie says eloquently. A well-timed crack of thunder crashes somewhere in the distance.

“Is there someone else?” Freddie almost can’t understand him, Connor’s teeth are chattering so hard.

“Is there s - for fuck’s sake, Connor, come inside.” He all but yanks Connor into the room, ignoring the way he tries to shake him off.

“Don’t - don’t touch me. _Is there someone else?_” He sways lightly, lisps his S’s just a little; just enough.

Freddie squints. “Are you _drunk_? How did you know I was going to be here?”

Connor waves an unconcerned hand. “You always stay here, I slipped the desk clerk a twenty to let me know which room you were in. Stop changing the subject.”

Freddie closes his eyes and counts to ten.

“There is no one else, Connor.”

There’s a few beats of silence. Then - 

“Bullshit.”

Freddie groans, and Connor turns his back on him, stalking to the bathroom to, Fred assumes, steal a towel to dry off with.

“Last I recall, you were the one that stopped answering my calls,” Freddie _thunks_ down onto the edge of the creaky motel bed. “If anything, I should be asking _you_ this question.”

Connor reappears from the bathroom, scowling even as he towel dries his hair. His shirt must be somewhere in the bathroom, because it’s certainly not on his body anymore, and Freddie has to focus very hard on not tracking the rivulets of water that trickle from his neck down to his chest with his eyes.

“First of all, _fuck_ you,” he starts. “I stopped answering because I was sick of feeling like the other woman when I was getting hung up on in the middle of conversations -”

“I definitely gave you a heads up that I’d have to go,” Freddie mutters.

“- and second of all, don’t you _dare_ flip your fuck-ups onto me. I didn’t do anything to deserve that, and you know it. And-and I just wish -” his voice broke “- that you would have the fucking decency to tell me if-if I wasn’t enough.”

And _fuck_, if that doesn’t just tear Fred’s heart up. “Baby,” he sighs, soft, hands reaching for Connor slowly. When he doesn’t shy away, Fred rests his hands on his hips, pulling him in until his knees are trapped between Fred’s thighs. “I promise you, there is no one else. Okay?”

Slowly, without meeting Fred’s eyes, Connor nods. He sniffles, and Freddie doesn’t know how to fix this

“You’re it for me. You’re more than enough, Connor. You’re everything.” Connor snorts, but quiets when Fred hushes him, shaking him lightly with the hands still on his hips. “I’m serious. You’re - you’re it for me.”

And Fred’s never been so close yet so far from saying those three words to someone, but Connor gets him. He knows what Freddie means without him having to say it, and that’s just one of the things Fred loves so much about him.

Freddie’s so _tired_ all of a sudden, struck all at once by the effects of this life he’s chosen and the weight of not being able to get a hold of Connor for weeks. The only reason he hadn’t completely lost it is because Connor’s boss had called him every day they hadn’t talked to let him know that he was alive and well, just avoiding Fred’s calls. 

He sags, feels his shoulders drop from where they’re usually glued around his ears, letting his forehead fall forward to rest against Connor’s bare abdomen.

Slowly, a hand works its way into the locks at the base of his neck, scratching and tugging lightly at the ends of it.

Fred matches his breathing to the rise and fall of Connor’s chest and lets his eyes slip shut.

**V.**

“Long day?”

Freddie glances up from his glass. The bartender of whatever shitty dive he’s currently sitting in is scrubbing at a sticky spot on the bartop in front of him. He’s not looking at Freddie at first, but then he’s glancing up at him through his lashes and Freddie -

Freddie is a fucking _goner_.

The bartender’s lashes are too thick and dark to be completely natural, and they frame his eyes just right. He’s got a trimmed beard and ginger hair that hits Fred right in the gut.

He looks him up and down. “You could say that.”

The bartender hums, tossing his rag over his shoulder, and rests his forearms on the counter. “What do you do?”

“I’m in a gang,” Freddie deadpans.

He snorts, which was the goal. Freddie’s not sure why no one ever takes him seriously. “Sounds rough.”

Fred shrugs. “Pays well.”

“Seriously. What happened? You look like h-”

He’s cut off by Auston, tan and threatening, breezing by on mike-long legs. “Let’s go,” she’s curt yet carefully neutral, which is how Fred knows that shit is about to go down. She tosses him his leather vest. “We’re needed across town.”

She’s out the door before he can say anything, leaving him to sigh and drain his glass before standing. 

“Ah,” Bartender says. “Girlfriend troubles?”

It takes everything in Fred not to laugh. “Nah. She’s missing some...key characteristics to be my type.” He’s not even subtle about the way he drags his eyes up and down Bartender’s body.

“Oh,” he squeaks as Fred shrugs his vest on.

It’s a struggle to fight the smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Thanks. See you around,” Fred tosses an entirely too large bill down next to his empty glass.

“I’m going to get the truth about what you do,” Bartender yells as he’s walking out. “I’m told I can be very persuasive!”

“I don’t doubt that,” Fred tosses over his shoulder, and lets the entrance door swing shut behind him.

**\+ I.**

Freddie feels the bed dip behind him from where he’s seated at the end of it, lacing up his battered black boots. He can’t help the smile that crosses his face when a pair of skinny, pale arms wrap around his shoulders from behind, a bony chin settling on his shoulders, lips so close to his neck that he has to hold in a shudder.

“I have to go,” he mumbles when the lips start to work their way down and across his shoulder. He shushes the voice in the back of his mind, chanting _’stay, stay, stay.’_

The whine Connor lets out is petulant and whiny, and it makes Freddie laugh out loud as he stands.

“I don’t want you to,” Connor blinks up at him with wide eyes when Freddie turns around, sitting back on his knees. His chest is bare and just starting to flush, and his hair is a mess. The plain white motel comforter is strewn across his lap, the only semblance of decency he has. 

(Freddie has seen the reality of what those lips can do. There isn’t much ‘decency’ left for Connor to hold on to.)

He reaches down to cradle Connor’s cheek in his palm, unable to help the way he rests a thumb against the seam of his lips. He just barely manages to suppress a groan when Connor drops his mouth open to suck the pad of his thumb into his mouth.

“Six months,” Freddie says. “Six months and I’ll be back. Right here.”

Connor takes Fred’s wrists in his hands, using the grip he has to tug him down to eye level. His gaze is so intense that it makes Fred blink; once, then twice. The only sound in the room comes from the buzzing radiator.

“You come back to me, Frederik Andersen.” His voice is no more than a whisper, uncharacteristically serious for him, but oddly fitting for the atmosphere of the room. It feels like anything louder and whatever they’ve created here, whatever they’ve maintained for the last few days, months, years, will be shattered into a thousand pieces. “You come back to me, do you hear me?”

Fred could tell him what he’s really thinking. He could say it, say _I would walk to the ends of the Earth for you, would kill a thousand men if it meant seeing your smile again, would lay down my life if it meant protecting you. I would leave this life, leave everything behind if you asked me to, if you told me that you were tired of only having a month out of the year to be together._

Instead, he nods.

Connor nods back.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments help more than you know, and i appreciate all of them!!
> 
> find me on tumblr at: @ohmymarnthews


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